Liar, Liar
by April29Roses
Summary: This is a series of 10 one shots, based on the "Pants on Fire" vocabulary quiz from Merriam-Webster! In this last chapter, 'Taradiddle', Merlin wrestles with the lies that underlie the bright facade of Camelot, and finds some hope.
1. Psuedologist

Pseudologist

Merriam Webster: This word can be used to describe a pathological liar, but it can also refer to the common garden variety teller of untruths.

Gaius was out of breath as he gained the top of the stairs, and his legs ached in a way that made annoyance into peevishness. Dismissing his interior tirade at the difficulties of old age, he focused himself on the view from the top of the stairs. He peered out at the practice yard where Arthur and the knights were training. The shouts of the young men floated up to him as he stood taking slow breaths and rubbing the crick in his hip.

Merlin was running, providing Arthur target practice as he scurried back and forth with a heavy wooden shield. It was the same exercise that had introduced his ward to the young Prince only a few years ago.

Gaius had to smile as he saw Merlin give little leap as he ran, and Arthur's perfectly aimed knife slid ineffectually from the rim of the shield. Gwaine and a few others guffawed and made a few rude comments. The old physician could almost hear Merlin's cheeky response among the general jibes. Arthur only motioned for his servant to resume the exercise.

The young King scored three solid throws, hitting the center of the shield with a rapid regularity that astonished even the old physician. He smiled as he watched the scene unfold. On the next pass, Merlin gave another little leap, but instead of foiling Arthur's aim, the hapless servant came down wrong on his foot and the shield slipped as he twisted downward. The boy fell in a tangle of limbs and shield, landing with a thump that was audible, even from Gaius' outlook.

The old man winced, and then his heart froze. Merlin didn't get up. Arthur was beside the boy in an instant, holding up an imperious hand to gesture for calm, even as he leaned down. The knights gathered around the pair, obscuring them from view. Moments passed. Gaius waited. His heart pounded. After what seemed like a long time, Merlin stirred and Arthur helped him sit up. Gaius could see Percival's wide smile even from this distance.

After a few moments, his dark haired ward clambered unsteadily to his feet, smiling broadly, even as he slowly began to walk back to the castle. The knights were teasing him now, finding relief in their laughter. Gwaine started to accompany him, but Merlin shrugged off his concern and continued on alone., holding a towel to his arm. Clearly, his injury didn't seem serious. Gaius headed back towards his chamber, knowing that in the end, he would end up being the judge of that.

mmmMmmm mmmMmmm mmmMmmm mmmMmmm mmmMmmm mmmMmmm mmmMmmm mmmMmmm mmmMmmm mmmMmmm mmmMmmm mmmMmmm

Merlin took a deep breath as his head spun. It wasn't much further to his room, he told himself. There were dark motes dancing before his eyes all around him, but a few more deep breaths made them recede. His head ached. There was a huge goose egg on the back of his head where he had smacked it on the shield as he fell. Merlin poked at it gingerly, and hoped that Gaius would not be in his chamber. The last thing he wanted to do, was explain this latest injury to Gaius. He knew he had brought it on himself. His jumping had annoyed Arthur and the knights had laughed and it was all in good fun. He enjoyed annoying Arthur far more than he should have. Dollophead had missed a shot. Funny, Arthur had sounded more aggrieved than angry once he had seen the cut on Merlin's arm. Good thing he didn't know about this other minor problem with his head.

The warlock felt dizzy, but he figured it was from the blood trickling from the cut on his arm, where Arthur's knife has thrummed past him as he fell. Gawaine had wrapped a towel around it, but even with that, the blood was dripping on the immaculate hallway that he had mopped only that morning. He staggered a little bit. He just needed to sit down he reasoned. He wondered briefly if he was thinking clearly, but then, since he had asked the question, that must mean he was fine. He pushed the physician's door open quietly.

Damn! Gaius was sitting in his favorite perch by the window, deeply engrossed in one of his medical books. He shuffled past, giving a quiet 'hullo' as he neared his mentor.

"Let me look at it, " said Gaius, with his typical asperity. "What did you do this time?" Merlin sank gratefully on to a stool and his head stopped spinning a bit. Good. Gaius carefully unwrapped the makeshift bandage.

"I was going through the kitchens, " he began, stopping in sudden consternation when Gaius shot him a piercing glance.

"What?" The old physician sounded a bit impatient.

"Yeah. I'm telling you how it happened, Gaius. " He gave a glance upwards at his mentor and hoped he was making sense with his story. This was only a minor injury and he didn't want to tell Gaius how he had been at fault for teasing Arthur and then falling down like an idiot. He began again.

"I was going through the kitchens, you know. Getting Arthur's food and I thought he would like this fresh cheese that Margot had just brought out. But she didn't have any knives clean, so…"

"You cut yourself cleaning the knife?"

"Well, not washing the knife," he began. "I thought I should sharpen it."

"You cut yourself sharpening the knife?" His mentor sounded a bit aggrieved as well. Funny.

Merlin nodded in assent, immediately regretting the movement as the dark motes returned and his head spun.

"Clumsy, I know…." The warlocks voice trailed off.

"Well, at least that part is true," said the old man under his breath.

"What…"

"You'll need a stitch or two, " the old man continued, as if had not heard Merlin. He turned away to gather the supplies he would need for the simple procedure.

Merlin's head was pounding. Why had Gaius said that? Of course, he was clumsy. He was the clumsiest servant in the Five Kingdoms. Arthur had said so. Strangely, he felt like vomiting, but he worked on sucking in huge breaths of air into his lungs and the feeling dwindled.

His mentor dragged a chair close and positioned the light on the table closer and began to clean his wounded arm. The pain was tolerable, but together with the pounding in his head, Merlin began to see double almost immediately and before he could stop himself, he was on the floor. His head reverberated with the echo of the blinding pain of his prior fall. Gaius was calling his name. The agony in his head surged up, like a roiling black tide and carried him away into the darkness.

mmmMmmm mmmMmmm mmmMmmm mmmMmmm mmmMmmm mmmMmmm mmmMmmm mmmMmmm mmmMmmm mmmMmmm mmmMmmm mmmMmmm

Merlin awoke, his head muzzy and vague, comfortable on a soft pallet or bed. He sighed. The sheets were fresh and still smelled of soap. There was a cooling poultice on the back of his head.

"What?' he murmured as a face swam into view. At first he was unsure of who it was, but in a moment, a flaring white eyebrow told him he was in deep trouble.

"How are you feeling, Merlin?"

"Better?" He prayed he sounded convincing.

"That was a bad fall you took out there with Arthur, my boy. I saw the whole thing, you know, from the top of the stairs near the windows. You were teasing Arthur and you tripped and fell with the shield. You're lucky I saw you hit your head. At least, I knew what I was dealing with!"

Merlin nodded, again wishing he hadn't.

"No permanent damage," said the physician, carding his hand gently over Merlin's tender skull. "You will need to rest a few days. But I do believe you have found a new career, my boy."

"Beside 'worst servant', 'hidden warlock and 'master of dragons' said Merlin hoping to coax a smile from his mentor. Truly, he had not meant to cause Gaius so much trouble and he was hoping to be forgiven.

"Pseudologist ."

"What? Sue what?" Confusion overcame his tenuous hold on banter. "What's that?"

"Liar."

"Oh…" said the servant. "Yeah, well… I really didn't… you see…"

His attempted explanation was stopped dead by the flaring eyebrow. Time to admit the truth.

"Yeah."

"Yeah," echoed Gaius, with a smile at last.


	2. Hodad

**Hodad**

Merriam-Webster: Hodads are people who spend time at surfing beaches, pretending to be surfers, but who do not actually surf.

 _Author's note: This story is set in a mythical time frame,(post season 5) in which Merlin, having lived a long, immortal time has managed Arthur's return at the foretold moment. Both the Once and Future King and Emrys have returned to Camelot, re-entering the timeline before the catastrophe of Camlann and now, the true Golden Age of Albion has begun! Clearly, Arthur knows and accepts Merlin's magic. (This story is a s—t—r—e—t—c—h given the meaning of the word! Hope you enjoy!)_

Merlin swung down easily from the branch of the oak tree where he had remained hidden for the duration of the skirmish below. He gave the King a push with his shoulder, knocking him off balance as he stood catching his breath. Arthur only smiled. The knights moved around them, Percival and Elyan giving chase to the rapidly retreating brigands.

"Really, Merlin?" The king's tone rang with irony. "The most powerful warlock the world has ever seen, and you still hide in a tree like a girl when there are bandits around to fight!". He chuckled to himself as he plunged the tip of Excalibur into the dirt and cleaned the last of the blood from the blade before he sheathed it.

Merlin did not respond. Clad in his familiar blue homespun shirt and tattered neckerchief, his friend's eyes were twinkling as he gave Arthur a mysterious grin.

"Well, I'm gonna tell you why I do that, Arthur!" His smile deepened with an unfathomable mirth. "It's because I'm a hodad."

"A what? A hodad? I swear that's one of your ridiculous made up words, Merlin!"

"Of course it isn't! It's just a word that you don't know." His voice was jocular as he turned away and he spoke over his shoulder as he turned away from the king. "Fer sure, I'm a hodad!" He whistled for his horse, which immediately appeared from behind a copse of trees. He swung himself into the saddle and Arthur was glad to see his own horse ambling up at precisely the right moment. The tone of his voice changed archly as he looked down at his friend. "There are more things in heaven and earth, dear Arthur, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. " * The dark haired youth gave a chuckle and turned his horse to follow the other knights, evidently pleased with himself and greatly amused at his own wit.

Arthur dropped the topic. Hodad must be a word from the future. When Merlin referred to the future in that cryptic way, it was sometimes best to wait until he was ready to tell you what he actually meant. Sometimes, very rarely, he would speak of great battles and leaders, of migrations of peoples and religions, he would speak of brutal conquests and medical advances that could save lives better than magic. Other times he would speak of machines that did incredible things, until it seemed to Arthur that Merlin must surely spin these tales from his own boundless imagination. Nothing could be so amazing. In the end, Arthur would be agog and his friend would laugh and Merlin's words would drift away with the wind. And yet there was a truth in his tales that Arthur could not deny, no more than he could deny the mystery of his own raising from the Lake of Avalon. He shuddered. Recalling his friend made the cold, coiling memories of that day recede. Merlin.

Merlin and his words. Hodad. What was a hodad? And why was Merlin one of them? These glimpses of his friend's long life roused his curiosity as nothing else did. It was best to wait. Far away, Gawaine's voice drifted through the forest in a sing song rhythm.

"Princess!" The voice paused. "Princess! Have you lost your way?"

Realizing that he had been left far behind, the King spurred his horse forward.

Later on that evening, when dinner was done and Arthur was poking at the embers and glowing logs that would keep them warm through the night, he broached the word again. Leon and Gawaine were off tending the horses. Percival and Elyan had gone to gather firewood. The chores of the Round Table Knights had become decidedly more equitable since their return from time. Arthur was sure this change was Merlin's idea, but it seemed to work better than the previous one.

"So, what is a hodad," the king asked quietly.

"You'll find out," said the warlock with a mysterious tone and Arthur felt like he had been put off, like an over eager child. The mere notion nettled him, and he felt quite cross, until he saw Percival and Gawaine settle down by the fire, their easy manner and expressions indicating that a story was indeed forthcoming. Leon and Elyan joined the group moments later, and they completed a rough circle around the glow of the fire. Arthur relaxed. Merlin had been planning a story all along.

"A long time from now," began the warlock, looking around at his friends with a strange, wonderful fire in his eyes. "On an island far away from here, in a beautiful land where there are no seasons, and the sun shines every day, there is a game the people play with the waves and the shore."

The knights nodded and there was a general feeling of anticipation. Merlin gestured, a long slow movement with his hand, and his eyes glowed gold , as if the embers of the fire between them trembled for a moment in his gaze. There in the fire, an image of the sea arose, the waves cresting and moving, brilliant with foam. The sky was a rare color of blue and the sea glittered bright. The motes of magic hung around the image, outlining it in fire, and the knights along with Arthur, gawked at the image. They pointed at the strange trees on the shore, with feathery frond tops, and the stretch of white sand so long and bare, that it moved the heart. Merlin gestured again, and suddenly they saw a figure, paddling in the water, riding the swells of the waves on a sort of long, narrow, flat raft. Then to their collective shock, the figure hopped up, balancing on the raft and began to ride the wave, moving towards the shore! The knights became raucous and started to ask questions, but Merlin only gestured again.

Now the figure was suddenly closer, his feet gripping and flexing the board as he used his weight and his balance to slide the board over the water, his long hair trailing in the wind, until he suddenly lost control and disappeared with a sudden splash into the roiling surf.

"Whoa, he got axed! " exclaimed Merlin, laughing aloud, and although the words and images were strange, the knights and Arthur, understood in a visceral way. They laughed uproariously.

"That would be you," snorted Gawaine.

"And this would be you," answered Merlin, with a smirk and wave of his hand. A figure in wildly patterned short pants was riding the deep part of the wave, the incredible blue furl of water pushing the rider forward, inevitable and undeniable.

"Look, who's in the barrel," said the warlock, and the knights laughed as they could see the figure had Gawaine's face! The water was cresting over his head, the spray falling as he crouched deeper into the curl of the wave, and then he lost control as well. Percival and Leon hooted and Gawaine bowed mockingly.

"Love those pants", hooted Leon.

"Gnarly!" added Merlin.

"All well and good," said the king quietly, his tone quiet but smiling as he gazed at the sorcerous image of wind, water and rider. "But what is a hodad?"

Merlin pointed, and there on the shore, Arthur could see a group of young men and women, all tending to their slim, flat rafts. They were polishing and cleaning the boards, laughing and talking. There was music and joking. The men were tanned and muscular, the girls lithe and wearing very little clothing. The knights found this fascinating and they hardly paid attention to the exchange between Merlin and Arthur.

"He's a hodad," said the warlock, pointing once more. There on the shore was a rather lazy looking, thin, dark haired youth, who was polishing his board and taking a long, grateful quaff of some drink in a metal can.

"Ale, well, beer really," said Merlin, before his friend could ask what the kid was drinking. "Watch that guy, Arthur. He never goes in the water, never hits the waves, he just likes to hang out and pretend that he's one of them."

The King nodded, his eyes brightening as he caught Merlin's sidelong glance. "I see," he said and then said no more. The king and the warlock returned their attention to the sorcerous images, and the knights had many questions about how the surfers stayed on the boards, and Merlin told them all they wanted to know about the parts of the waves and how and why they broke in different ways, and how to tell when the waves were blown and not worth their time. Finally, at last, they went to bed, sleepy and incredulous, and full of strange dreams.

As they settled down, Arthur found himself, looking up at the stars, wondering if Orion the hunter, riding the crests of darkness could really be the great Duke Kahanamoku. He laughed at his own ridiculousness as he sighed and stretched.

"Merlin, "he said at last. The pause that followed was so long that the king began to think his friend was already asleep."Merlin!"

"Yeah," he heard at last.

"I just wanted to tell you something."

"What?"

"You aren't a hodad. Not at all."

"I'm not?"

"No, you idiot. You're part of us, you know. Our protector." Again there was a long silence and then a soft snort.

"I know, brah," said Merlin quietly. "I know."

The night wind sang them to sleep, and the soughing of the trees murmured like the ocean. And in their dreams, though they would never remember it in the morning, they slid on the waves, laughing, and the sun shone brilliant and clean on the pure blue waters of the sea.

The End

*Hamlet(1.5.167-8) Merlin thinks he's so smart!

 _Many thanks to my beautiful daughter, Ariana, who picked this week's word for the chapter because I was dithering! Thanks for forcing me to stretch a bit!_


	3. Fabulous

Chapter 3

Fabulous

Merriam Webster informs us that the earliest known meaning of ' **fabulous** ' is 'characteristic of fables'.

 _This story is set in the immediate aftermath of the episode "The Crystal Cave"._

Merlin tried to sleep but his thoughts roiled like smoke. As soon as he thought about one thing, another thought pushed the first out, until it was simply a montage of images, of nightmares. There was Arthur's pale face, his lips bloodless and his heart faltering. Morgana's cry pierced his heart as she fell. He felt again the hot breath of the dragon spilling over him like a tide of anger and the cold certainty in Kilgarrah's dire warning. Gwen and Arthur clung together, consumed with grief. Blood dripped from the knife and spilled onto the floor. The cave was heavy with magic; it echoed in the ringing images and dreams that sang within the crystals. Taliesin's eyes were an abyss of secrets. Death. Arthur. Morgana. Betrayal. Uther. And all of the images hung like some kind of strange fulcrum on the results of his decisions.

Merlin sat bolt upright, He abandoned the idea of sleep. There was danger in recrimination and he was all too familiar with the dark place that these thoughts would lead him. What had been done, could not been changed. Merlin feared Morgana's hate, as he had never feared her magic. It was a battle in the dark, and only he fully understood the consequences.

He rose and dressed, intent on losing himself in some mindless chore, working himself through this latest barrage of events and finding some peace. He retrieved Arthur's clothing from the saddle bag where he had left them before taking them to wash. The rent in Arthur's mail from the arrow would require more specialized attention no doubt.

He separated the fluid weight of the mail, draped it over his arm and, holding the soiled remnants of clothing he went down to the wash room, on the lower level of the castle. None of the servants had yet arisen to begin the daily chores of washing. There was only the girl who tended the fire in the main kitchen, and she was drowsing contentedly.

It wasn't until he slid the clothing into the warm soapy water to soak, that he glanced at the chainmail where he had laid it aside. He saw the stain of blood that coated the mail on the inside. If he thought the outside of the mail had looked bad, it wasn't much compared to the inside. Arthur's blood. He had almost died. The reality of that horror overcame Merlin once more. The coppery smell of blood rose from the wet clothing and clung to his hands. He had almost failed. Maybe he had failed. Maybe Morgana should have died, but he could not bear to think of it.

The weight of the lies that lay at the root of Camelot crushed him. Morgana, beautiful, deadly Morgana, was Uther's own child. Arthur's sister. The secret of Arthur's birth and the devastation that followed, swam thick as fog in the darkness. Merlin's own secret was wreathed round in so many lies that he lost track of them. So many lies, and so many of them, that he suspected he still did not know, would never know. And any one of the lies, might reach out and destroy Arthur. This time there was no Taliesin to soothe his thoughts. Now, there was no Gaius to ease his sense of failure.

He felt anger. He was consumed by anger at his own helplessness and fear. He was angry that Arthur's life had hung by a thread and he had been unable to do anything, other than weep. He was angry that Morgana should have died. The solution had been within his grasp, but the price had been too high. Now, her hatred would gather in strength and power, and it was he, who had not been strong enough to stop her. Would Arthur die some day in the future because of what he had done this day? There was nowhere to hide from this pain that eroded his strength. Blinking back tears, he took a wet rag and started to sponge the blood off the mail. It wouldn't do to take it to the armorer like that.

He berated himself for the thought. No blacksmith would be horrified by blood; he was acting like a girl. His fingers touched the ragged edges where the intertwined rings had been pierced by the heavy arrow. And then before he knew it, the pain of the last few days flew down on him, enveloping him in guilty futility, and fear and remorse, until his very soul convulsed with horror. His magic spilled out of him as he bit back the cry that burned in his throat.

Blue and clear, the light of his magic surged gold at the edges, as it poured over the rent in Arthur's mail. Trembling with power, Merlin's hand rested on the very place where Arthur's life had very nearly bled out. Never again. Never again, would these rings fail to protect Arthur. He swore, by all he held dear, that he would never fail Arthur again.

Merlin opened his eyes, fatigue echoed through him. He trembled with the effort of standing up, until he gave way to reason and sank down to his knees. The mail shone perfect and whole. To his eyes, the area that had been torn apart by the arrow glinted with subtle magic, almost invisibly. To human eyes, it would be indiscernible. Changing those few rings had cost Merlin dear, and the thought of reinforcing the whole hauberk was clearly impossible. But there was at least this surety. That small part of the mail would never fail again. Never.

Merlin struggled to his feet. While he had fought his battle of recrimination, the day had come, filling the chamber with light. Still holding the mail, he turned and sighed, as he left for the kitchen. Who knew what would come of this magic? He decided that Arthur would probably want breakfast very soon.

It was a few days before he slipped that same coat of mail over Arthur's head. Merlin felt his magic suddenly awaken as the armor made contact with the Prince, and his servant closed his eyes in automatic convulsive fear. But the moment passed and Arthur stood quietly as Merlin expertly fit his spaulder and pauldron to his shoulder. Arthur lifted and bent his arms, letting Merlin tweak the straps to give him the most flexibility.

"Fabulous," the servant whispered under his breath, as he felt the one place in Arthur's armor that would never fail, slip into place. It lightened his heart.

"What," asked Arthur. "Did you say something, Merlin?"

The secret warlock did not answer, but smiled as his friend slipped the crimson cape of a knight of Camelot over his armor. He had to admit that Arthur looked the part of a King out of legend, as the cape unfurled in a dramatic sweep around his boots. He even had enchanted armor, like any hero in a tale. The intertwined rings were replete with the pledge that had convulsed the warlock's heart only days ago. The fate of the Once and Future King was in his hands. It was enough to bring a slightly, sad smile to Merlin's lips.

"You look fabulous," he said at last.

Arthur smiled in return and strode out to meet the new day.


	4. Falsetto

Chapter 4

Falsetto

According to Merriam Webster, the word **falsetto** , refers to a voice that is not merely high in pitch, but artificially so.

 _ **This story is set in the fabulous time between seasons four and five**_ _. **It is dedicated to my dear friend Sahba, because she loves a good whump story, and a happy ending too!**_

"Arthur!"

Merlin's voice was tense and urgent, commanding his attention.

"Arthur!"

His voice was higher now, almost strained. Arthur's eyes went wide with shock. Broad swaths of the forest were cut down, and Arthur's leg burned viciously as he was shoved along a roughly made path through the forest destruction. There was blood in his shoe. Even now, in the dark of night, men were working by torchlight. Dark shadows of laborers spread out on either side of the destruction of the forest. They were building something, something dangerous.

The King woke all at once, his heart pounding, reaching instinctively for his sword. Guinevere stirred, and he realized he had been caught in a dream. He tried to calm his breathing.

"I heard Merlin calling me," he said at last, to his wife with no preamble. "In my dream, the forest was cut down, and …" Here he paused, still fraught through with fear and the intensity of the warning. "There is a terrible danger. To Camelot."

Gwen was already rising, gathering the folds of her robe around her, as she took Arthur by the hand.

"Come," she said simply. They hurried along the corridors to Gaius' chamber, not even needing to talk, but joined in a sudden understanding that something terrible was beginning.

The old man answered the door so quickly that there was no doubt he had been awake. His eyes were solemn as he took in the appearance of the King and Queen and the expressions on their faces.

"Where's Merlin?" The king's voice was almost casual, despite the look in his eye.

"He's not here Sire. He left, late last night. Word came of a man injured badly in an accident, about two hours north of here, Merlin volunteered to go in my place to tend to him, and I did not hesitate to let him. He is more than competent."

"I had a dream," said Arthur. The hardness in his eyes told Gaius how deep fear had struck him, that here he stood confessing a nightmare to his old mentor in the middle of the night. "Merlin called to me. The forest was all cut down and I was being forced along a path. That's all I remember."

"I could not sleep," said the old man, indicating his still steaming cup of tea. " I am an old man with an old man's complaints." His words were at odds with the knowing look in his eyes.

"Do you think something has happened to Merlin? How will we find him," asked Gwen as she looked between the two men.

"It was a warning," said the physician at last.

"Danger approaches Camelot from the north," said Arthur decisively. There was no discussion that the warning had come through a dream. "I will wake the knights and send a patrol to scout for areas of logging."

Grimly, the trio looked at each other, fearful and hopeful, wondering what this new threat could be.

 _ **Six hours later**_

Despite fading hope, Merlin had not returned. His riderless horse had returned two hours after Arthur had sent the knights out on their mission. Leon and Gwaine had returned from their reconnaissance only a few hours later. Their serious faces awakened the sense of danger that had accompanied his dream. Arthur took a deep breath as they entered the hall to give their report.

"A large area has been logged Sire, and there is a sizeable contingent of men building an enormous structure." Leon's voice was urgent. "They displayed no banner, nor wore any insignia. The parts were already being loaded onto wagons. It's clearly a siege engine, Arthur, a trebuchet."

Arthur nodded but he said nothing. Both knights knew he was mentally reviewing the depth of the northern castle walls at various points and planning how they might destroy the weapon before it could be used.

"It's range will be enormous," warned Gwaine. "The rapidity of their progress speaks of some kind of help, Sire. Magical help." Arthur's glare was immediate. "The trees appear to be newly logged, within a day, but they are already processed into rough lumber, and many parts of the engine were already built. It should take months to build a siege engine of that size, not days."

"Merlin has not returned." The king said it stiffly. Leon recalled suddenly, the hollow grief in Arthur's eyes when Merlin had gone missing once before; the bloodstained scrap of jacket in Arthur's hand and Agravaine's oily, sympathetic voice came back to his mind with nightmare detail. "His horse came back."

Gwaine was uncharacteristically silent. Arthur did not need to look at either Gwaine or Leon to know there would be murder in their eyes.

"The idiot's probably gone and gotten himself captured," the king continued. Arthur bowed his head and pinched his nose, as if his terrible calm could somehow save his friend from what had happened. "He will give nothing away," he whispered almost to himself.

"We will need to attack," said the king more strongly. "Gather the knights and we will review a strategy. We have no way of knowing who is behind this attack. Perhaps it is the Sarrum; perhaps another magical foe. As you say Gwaine. Their progress has been almost miraculous. We have little time. "

Gwaine and Leon shared a look of pain, as Arthur turned away, looking out the window. In retrospect, the story of an injured man had probably only been a ruse to capture someone from the King's household. Only they knew how much it cost Arthur, to focus on the defense of Camelot, as his heart sank with the real likelihood that his friend had been captured. The possibility that Merlin had already been killed or tortured for information loomed unspoken.

 _ **An hour later in the Great Hall**_

Arthur appeared anxious as the knights gathered, pacing periodically as people came and went in the shuffle. Gwen and Gaius had joined the Round Table Knights as they found their seats at the table. The pace where Merlin stood behind the King was noticeably vacant, and the knights murmured among themselves.

"There is an enemy force coming from the north, with a partially assembled siege engine," began Arthur somewhat awkwardly. " The trebuchet is enormous, so I want the northern walls of Camelot manned with snipers, as well as many fighting men as we can muster. Leon will coordinate the defense of the walls, along with Elyan. Bring the people from the lower town into the castle. I charge both of you with the safety of the Queen. Gwaine, Percival and I will help lead the search to destroy the trebuchet before it is built." Here he paused. "We believe Merlin was captured, so I ask all of you…"

He looked steadily around at his gathered warriors. He could not bear to look at Gaius. "We must find him."

There was a terrific roaring in the air and a tremendous thud. It reverberated along the walls with a strange thrumming. The horror of it shook each of them. Everything changed in the space of seconds.

"Gaius, take Guinevere to safety." Arthur's voice was even, almost emotionless. The king gave his wife a moment's gaze that seemed to both torture and embolden him, a intensely private exchange.

"Follow me," he said simply to the knights, after a heartbeat more.

They set out at run, rushing to the battlements as a second blow from the trebuchet roared into the air. Just as he gained the view, he saw the burning mass rising in its trajectory towards the walls of Camelot. But just as their destruction seemed in evitable, the flaming mass met with a shimmering wall, that exploded with sorcerous gold at the point of impact, and the blazing mass slid strangely and slowly down the shimmering barrier until it hit the ground with a thud, and the wall erased itself from view. As the walls reverberated with the echo of magical power, the knights shouted in surprise and relief.

"Sorcery!"

"Sorcery that saved Camelot!

Arthur was shocked but he found himself hoping the sorcerous defense would last, even as he vowed to root its source out. Yes, he would root out the sorcerers and thank them, he told himself!

The trebuchet was indeed enormous. It was set at least two hundred yards back from the walls of Camelot. It had twin wheels where two teams of men labored to bring the bucket down for another launch. There were additional men chained within the wheel, helping to move the bucket as well. The structure would surely reach three hundred feet into the air when it's arm released.

It was impossible that so large a war engine could have been constructed in the short time that Gwaine and Leon had gone on their mission. In the short time, since he had dreamed of his servant calling his name. Sorcery sent fear snaking along their thoughts as they gazed, awestruck at the giant trebuchet.

. "Percival and Gwaine, with me. Leon, go to the lower town to bring the people to safety. Elyan, organize the bowmen and coordinate from here. Hurry!"

Arthur left the Great Hall, running along the corridors to the armory. There was a cache of smoke bombs in a bucket, just as he recalled. He passed them along to the knights as they readied their attack on the trebuchet itself. The knights stripped themselves of their red capes with the bold insignia of Camelot. Instead, they put on shapeless homespun tunics to hide their shining mail, and covered themselves further with patched dark cloaks. They smudged their faces with ashes and raced out into the shadows of the dangerously bright afternoon light.

 _ **At the site of the trebuchet**_

Merlin trembled with exhaustion and pain, as he trod the wheel of the trebuchet, chained to a partner by waist irons. He had taken a slash to his thigh when he was captured along the road, and the wound was still bleeding sluggishly, although he had bound it with cloth ripped from his own shirt. It had only been his play acting the fool with the rough bandits who had been pressed into service as guards, that had saved him from being taken to the sorcerer directing the construction of the trebuchet. Instead, he had been chained here to help power the siege engine. He heard the name Ruadan echo among the men who labored to maneuver the giant construction into place. Merlin determined to keep hidden. He had determined to save Camelot.

He had been able to stop the first and second blows of the trebuchet, using his magic. It had been easy to disguise his eyes and his chanting under the creaking and groaning of the trebuchet. There had been total consternation when the launch failed to do any damage and there were many cries about a sorcerer in Camelot. Merlin found it almost humorous, almost. He was dizzy. The consequences of his injury and the drain of the magic on his energy slowed his reactions. He fell and tumbled helplessly as the wheel kept moving.

"Get up, " hissed the man who was chained to him. "Get up or they bring out the whip. Get up, I tell you!"

Merlin groaned as he hauled himself up, his head groggy, his knees aching unbearably. Blood was now pouring into his boot again. It squelched as he trudged. The secret warlock gasped as he fell again, stumbling once more in exhaustion and pain. His partner grabbed him roughly by the neck and pulled him upwards.

"Get up," yelled the guard, as he saw Merlin fall the second time. Incredibly, Merlin stayed on his feet, with his partner's rough help and gestured that he could go on. Soon they would begin loading the bucket with rocks and Greek fire and then they could stop. At last, the wheel ground to a stop and Merlin collapsed. He hoped he had the strength to power another defense of the castle.

As he caught his breath, he tried to ignore his pain by thinking of his friends. There was Gwaine, a cup held up in a toast, laughter painted on his every feature. Elyan's smile was like a mirror of Gwen's dark eyes beaming at him. He saw Leon and Percival's quiet approval as they sat around the fire with him on those hunting nights.

He thought of Gaius, and his heart began to break. This wasn't helping. He could not bear to think of Arthur. Pain throbbed through his leg as he tried to get up again. The bucket trembled against the torque of the siege engine. Soon it's terrible burden would be unleashed against his home. Against Camelot. His home. He could not fail Arthur.

The trebuchet was launched and the whole structure shot back violently, knocking Merlin hard against the wheel behind him. The waist iron cut into his back, and his partner groaned as well.

The air filled with smoke suddenly. There were loud screams. As Merlin struggled to focus, his head still confused from the blow, he saw there were flaming arrows stuck into the frame of the trebuchet. Fire licked along the edge of the wheel above him and the base of the arm. There was yelling and fighting all around him.

More quickly than he ever thought possible, he rose to his feet. Merlin summoned all his strength and closed his eyes. His magic swirled strong and sure, adamantine in its certainty. Not having the time to incant a spell, Merlin dug deeper into himself. He stopped the flaming load of rocks and Greek fire with the raw strength of his will, his magic flaring bright as it stopped the missile. The warlock dropped bonelessly at the same moment, as the shimmering shield disappeared and the echo of the clash vibrated through the walls of Camelot and shook the ground around him. His strength bled away in a sudden gushing rush of power. Merlin gasped for air.

The man who was chained to him was gurgling. An arrow was buried in his back, all the way up to the shaft. To Merlin's horror, his gurgling ceased after a few, torturous, unending moments. He pushed frantically at the inert body and the chains that bound them together. He gasped for air. The smoke was intensifying and his vision was blurred.

He squinted. He saw an almost familiar shadow looming through the smoke. He thought it was Percival and tried to call out, but his voice choked in his throat. The tall knight turned towards him anyway. Armed with an enormous axe, the knight's face was strange and frightening in the shadows and glow of the fire that wreathed the wheel. The knight's arms reared back and the axe fell thunderously close to Merlin, splitting the chain that bound him to his dead partner. His leg wound shuddered into agony with the force of the blow and Merlin screamed. It was a terrible high-pitched cry of fear and desperation and completely unbearable pain. He called out for his friend, against all reason, against all hope.

"Arthur!"

Merlin was certain he heard Arthur's answering cry from the chaos around him. Panting in pain, he summoned one last burst of strength to get up. He heard his name again.

"Merlin!"

He struggled to his knees, blindly searching for Arthur through the smoke and fire, but he crumpled helplessly almost immediately. His right leg was useless. He started to crawl using his arms, but incredibly, Percival was beside him. The knight with the axe had been his friend after all. Merlin cried out again in the shock of recognition. Now, Percival was mercilessly dragging him away from the fire, gripping him firmly under the shoulder and finally pulling him upright. He threw one arm around his savior as he tripped and stumbled, valiantly trying to keep up, but finally giving way to being carried. His vision dimmed as the huge knight lifted him once more and he slipped into unconsciousness.

That was how Arthur found them, moments later.

 _ **In the woods, an hour later.**_

"He's coming around."

"He's still bleeding a lot," said another voice in concern.

"He needs Gaius. "

"Elyan's almost done with the litter," said Percival quietly." Merlin groaned.

Someone held a drink of water to Merlin's lips and he tried to take a sip. His head ached and his leg was on fire, bandaged very tightly. He was safe. A terrible weariness blanketed him.

Some one carefully shifted him. There was a gentleness in the touch that reminded him of Gaius. The smell of blood was in the air. Some how he knew it was his own. A cool cloth was laid against his forehead, and the touch of the water revived him a little. He tried to sit up, but the movement wrenched a cry from him.

As he panted through the pain, voices soothed him, but nothing made sense for a while. Had he warned Arthur in time? He remembered the falling rocks and the glint of fire as his magic stopped the siege engine's deadly missile. He relaxed. Someone was gently smoothing his hair. A familiar voice urged him to breathe.

"Arthur," he whispered. "You, here?"

"Yeah," said the king. Merlin nodded, a small smile curving his lips, but he didn't open his eyes. The servant relaxed, and a painful, contented sigh escaped him. After a few moments, he spoke again.

"How'd you find me?"

"Anyone could have found you," said Arthur with a snort. "The knights and I could hear your girly, falsetto screams all the way from the walls of Camelot."

"Could not," huffed the servant, opening his eyes at last to see it was his king and his friend who held him so gently. His smile was familiar; it was like coming home. Merlin knew he would be forgiven if his eyes now burned with tears of relief and affection.

"You did, too" laughed Gwaine. Percival nodded.

"You did," teased Arthur.

Merlin tried to smile. The nightmare of being chained to the wheel, the sense of horror that had consumed him for hours, began to ease. He was safe with Arthur and the knights. It was over. He no longer needed to keep going. The heavy knowledge that he might not be able to warn Camelot faded at last. He had not failed Arthur. Exhaustion claimed him.

The king for his part, gave profound thanks that Percival had found Merlin almost immediately during their guerilla attack. The trebuchet had been destroyed and the enemy force routed, after the magical defense of Camelot, but the mystery of their identity of the attackers was still unsolved. For that matter, the identity of the sorcerer who had defended the walls of Camelot and ended the attack was also unknown. Despite the danger of unknown enemies scattered in the woods around them, Arthur's world had righted itself.

He felt Merlin fade; he was unsure if his friend was unconscious or asleep. Either way, it would be easier to move him if he was less aware. Arthur could not bear to bring his friend any more suffering than he had already endured. He told himself that the nightmare that had begun this day had been a blessing. Merlin was alive and Camelot was safe. Despite his derisive, joking words to his friend, whenever Arthur closed his eyes, he could still hear his servant's voice raised in agony and screaming his name. The sound had shivered along his soul and ripped him open. It opened up an abyss that he had known once before and never wanted to know again. It would haunt him for a long, dark time.

"Shhh," soothed Arthur, although Merlin could not hear him. "Shhh. It's alright."


	5. Polygraph

Chapter 5

Polygraph

Merriam Webster explains that the word **polygraph** comes to our language from the Greek word 'polygraphos', meaning "writing much". Before it was used to refer to a lie detector, the word referred to a 'voluminous or versatile writer.'

 _This story, like the last one, is set in the halcyon time between seasons four and five._

The secret warlock threaded through the shadows of the unfamiliar hallways of Castle Caerleon. He was unsure if the storeroom was the third or fourth turn on the left, so his movements were cautious. He pushed open the door, suddenly certain he had it correct, and slipped into the room. Quickly, he threw off his dark cloak and spun it into long roll, shoving it against the crack at the bottom of the door. His eyes flickered gold and the door sealed shut with a decisive snick.

Merlin lifted his hand, his lips forming the word "leoht', though no sound escaped his lips. A small sphere of white fire appeared, outlining a small empty storeroom, save for a long table.

He felt an undeniable sense of glee fill him as he began to set out six scrolls on the long table. He took out a set of quills. All of them were white, but one of them was banded with a bright string of red tied closely to the nib, forming a small grip for the scribe who used it. He set one plain white quill atop each scroll, to hold it open, as if getting ready to write. From a small square case, Merlin produced six inkpots. Still with a smile on his face, Merlin carefully uncapped each one and set them in place.

Deep in his heart, he wondered if his delight in spells would someday be his undoing. He could only imagine the scolding he would get from Gaius for this kind of spell. But he reasoned he was perfectly safe in this room. Arthur was soundly asleep in the royal guest chambers, well guarded by his own knights. Merlin ignored his magic, which scrabbled and pleaded at him for release in anticipation of a new spell, as he set up the quills and the ink.

Today was the second day in eight day long visit by King Arthur to the court of Queen Annis. In the prior months, the envoys of both kingdoms had begun a dialogue and in the end, they had hammered out an alliance treaty between the two kingdoms. It was a strange thing that had happened between Arthur and the Queen, thought Merlin. It was hard to believe that a conflict begun in the bloody death of a fellow king could result in peace treaty, but Merlin was prepared to accept that where Arthur was involved, almost anything might happen.

He took a tattered piece of parchment out of his bag. It was much folded and had many corrections. He laid it out flat, and smoothed it carefully with his palm. This was the original copy of the treaty.

He had been instructed by Arthur to have six copies ready by noon of the next day, in time for the formal signing. The copies were to be sent to the neighboring kingdoms. The sudden chance to try out a spell that had been niggling and burning at him for weeks, and enable him to still have a full night's sleep was simply irresistible. He acknowledged to himself that Gaius would not be impressed by his justifications.

Merlin closed his eyes and began to repeat the words that he had privately christened, the 'polygraphos' spell. The quill with the red marked tip began to glow gold, tiny motes of fire flooding from the vein to the feathered tip of the quill and flowing to a plain quill that lay next to it. The fire flowed from one quill to the next, each feather glowing briefly as the magical fire touched it. After a moment, the glow faded and Merlin picked up the red-nibbed quill. He took a deep breath.

As he began to copy out the words of the treaty, the other quills, lifted up of their own accord and imitated his every stroke. He wrote each word carefully, in his most even script. The magic that had itched at his fingers for weeks as he readied the spell, tingled with his contained power. Merlin's smile deepened as he set to work.

When at last he was done, he reviewed the copies. Each was a perfect replica of the first one. As he surveyed all the copies written in his own hand, he was immensely satisfied. He supposed he could call himself a polygraph! The very thought made him laugh with sheer pleasure at his own cleverness. Quickly he gathered his supplies and replaced them in his bag. In only a moment he was gone, slipping back into the shadows of the hallway.

He was almost back to Arthur's guest quarters, when he turned a corner wrongly, and came out of short corridor in confusion, to see Queen Annis standing only a handspan away from him. She was looking out of window in the hallway, overlooking a tangled garden below. She was wearing a heavy dark cloak, trimmed in fur. The moon was bright, and it limned the garden in ghostly colors and lit her hair with frost.

The Queen seemed surprised but unperturbed with his sudden appearance as she turned to look carefully at Merlin. He bowed and dropped one of the scrolls but he was already respectfully murmuring his apologies as he bent to pick it up.

"Please excuse me, your Majesty," the dark haired servant said in his most respectful voice. "I lost my way; I did not mean to intrude…"

"You are King Arthur's fool, are you not," she asked, cutting him off. There was an ironic humor in her voice.

"Yes, your Majesty. Mostly I am, but, well, no, I'm his manservant."

"His manservant?" In the caesura that followed, the silence was filled by her sudden comprehension. "Ah, I see," she said, " His manservant. And yet, you are a fool who follows his master into every danger. I begin to understand." She pointed to the dropped scroll that he had tucked under his cloak. "And here I see you have scrolls in hand."

"Copies of the treaty, " said Merlin quietly. The Queen gave a nearly invisible start.

The tone of her voice strove to hide her surprise. "You are a scribe as well? That is highly unusual in a servant."

"Yes, my lady."

The Queen was silent for a moment more, clearly considering what he had said while she looked out on the silvery cascade of foliage trembling in the breeze.

"So," she began, with a smile that softened her entire appearance, "you are a servant, a simple minded fool who can write, and who is trusted with the most sensitive of documents. I have heard it said you seldom leave your master's side. You are indeed a mystery!"

"So says King Arthur, most of the time," said Merlin irrepressibly. The Queen laughed then, just as Merlin hoped she would, and the secret warlock's apprehension eased.

"And what does he say the rest of the time," she asked him. Her tone was light, but it was difficult to judge the expression in her eyes.

"That I'm the worst servant in the Five Kingdoms." Her smile was brilliantly spontaneous.

"Indeed?" She moved toward him, her small, strong hand coming to rest on his forearm, where he grasped the scrolls next to his body under the cloak.

"You are a man of many talents, Arthur's fool, " she said, with a look that made Merlin realize his heart had been laid bare to her eyes. Far from answering her questions, he feared this chance meeting had only deepened her curiosity.

Unsure of what to say, Merlin bowed his head in deference. She turned and began to walk away without saying anything more. Merlin stood where he had been, a bit shocked and worried that she had deduced some lie, or been alerted to his talent in some obscure way. These thoughts were never very far from Merlin's consciousness. He had learned to hide his secret well, and he hoped his answers had not piqued any conclusion based on information Morgana might have given the Queen. Merlin realized that he had been questioned by an astute master of interrogation. He wondered if he had passed her assessment of his place in Arthur's court.

The queen stopped suddenly and turned back to look once more at him. Her voice was soft.

"A friend is a rare treasure for anyone, but it is almost always impossible for a monarch. Arthur is fortunate."

Nonplussed, the secret warlock only bowed his head once more.

"Good night, Merlin," she answered.

 _Author's Note: Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews that I have been receiving. They lift my heart and make my day, and that means more to me than you can ever know!_


	6. Ananais

Chapter Six

Ananais

According to Merriam Webster, **Ananais** was an early Christian, who in some accounts, was struck dead for lying. Their story can be found in the Bible, Acts 5:1-11.

 _This story takes place in the era between seasons four and five. I do not own Merlin and I apologize, in advance, for any deviations from the canon characterizations of our heroes, in this fanfiction._

Both Merlin and Arthur were bone tired, dusty from travel and hungry, when they entered the inn.

Arthur's horse had thrown a shoe, on the return journey from investigating the reconstruction of an old Roman aqueduct, to bring water into the city. While not a catastrophe, it was full dark when they found a village with a forge, after having the lead the horse on foot for miles. It had added another day to their journey home to Camelot.

The smith was an older man, with ginger hair fading to gray, and a kind heart. He was already in deep conversation with Elyan, smiling and gesturing, clearly pleased that one of the knights was a smith. He assured Arthur that he was proud to have a knight of Camelot use his forge, and he bid the King find lodging in the local inn, the Gobble and Squawk. It was much finer and more suited to his royal position. His barn was far too humble for a King. Despite it's odd name, the local inn had good food he assured them and clean beds. He generously offered to share his own ale and beef with the knights, and Gwaine and Elyan immediately volunteered to sleep in the barn near the blacksmith's forge. Arthur and Merlin left their belongings with the knights for the most part.

As they entered the inn, they found a group of villagers gathered around a fire and waiting in a line to talk to an middle aged man, dressed in fine woolen tunic, who sat at a table with a ledger and a chest, in which were bags filled with coins. He was a tax collector.

The tavern was full of people, but the owner assured them he had a very fine private room available. Thinking that Merlin and Arthur, were only a knight and his servant, he bade them tell the king in Camelot about his prize poultry. Merlin could only shake his head as he put together the meaning of the inn's unusual name. They ordered some food and retreated to a table in the shadows, where they could observe what was happening.

"Remember I am here in the name of King Arthur," intoned the tax collector as he looked down the line of motley peasants. "You there, Alistair. Pay up first, since you still owe from the last time. I will not be so generous again!"

As Alastair shuffled forward, coins in hand, Merlin looked at the tax collector askance, not having had the best interactions with the profession in the past. In contrast, Arthur gave the man a briefly, piercing glare that would have paralyzed any one of his knights, and then focused on watching the scene, without being recognized as the King. Merlin seemed to immediately understand what Arthur wanted. They were now, in other words, spying.

"Have you never seen your own taxes collected," asked Merlin with some amusement. Arthur nodded, preferring to keep quiet, but his servant was unconvinced.

The tax collector, whose given name was Lewis, marked off each who paid the tax, and for the most part, it was an almost silent process. A serving girl brought them some beer and stew that probably tasted better than it was, because they were so hungry. They ate with gusto and drained their beers with relish.

One man shoved his coins grudgingly over the table to the tax collector. Lewis shook his head as he looked at the pile.

"That's all there is," the man said loudly.

"That was the tax amount, last year, Bill. You know it as well as I do. Pay the rest now, or the King will have me take you to debtor's jail." The tax collectors tone was long suffering, and he looked at the unfortunate man with a false pity as he shook his head.

"The tax gets higher each year," said Bill boldly. He looked back at his fellow villagers in line, and the people were nodding. "Each year, the King adds to his tax and never a word on why. It's enough to make me want to walk right up to Camelot's walls and demand an answer!"

Merlin and Arthur gave each other a look. There had been no rise in the taxes. Arthur's anger was clear.

"I will not have that kind of talk," said the tax collector raising his voice. "I am a representative of the King himself. Do you deny him his due?"

The crowd was silent. Arthur glared.

The tax collector spoke again, "You should not presume on the King's mercy," His voice took on a calmer tone and he settled into his chair. "Let me tell you a story. Long ago, there was a man named Ananais and his wife, who was named Sapphira. They owned some land, and as was the custom of the early Christians, they sold their land and were supposed to give the money into the care of the holy church. But they did not want to give everything over to St. Peter! They were greedy! They told each other that they would keep some of the money they received from selling their land, and only give a portion of it to St. Peter and the new church. The rest they would keep for themselves." Lewis mimed their grasping hands, as if he clutched the money to his chest. "Yes! They conspired to lie to St. Peter and not give him what was his due." Here Lewis paused in his harangue, and looked at the villagers in the line waiting to pay the tax.

Merlin could feel Arthur seething beside him. He did not dare move.

"Well, when they came before St. Peter, they gave him part of the money, just as they had agreed. "Where is the rest," he asked. Ananais swore it was all he had, but the great apostle knew better and he said, "You shall not cheat God," and with that, Ananais was struck down dead on the spot. And his wife too! Just like that!"

Lewis leaned back in his chair. He looked at those who were still waiting to pay the tax. "Now, I'm not saying anyone will be struck dead, but you cannot deny the King what is his. He has knights. Remember, knights will not hesitate to use the sword, where I am a man of peace. Give me the tax that is due now, all of you, and there will be no need to notify King Arthur or his Knights."

At this last line, Arthur could contain himself no longer and sprang to his feet.

"Enough," he shouted. "Enough!"

Merlin cringed at the familiar Pendragon ire that was painted on Arthur's features. The King strode toward the tax collector, and the people turned all at once to see the commotion. Seeing his armor and thinking he was a knight come in vengeance, many people dropped to their knees. There were cries for mercy heard from various spots in the room.

"Sir Knight!" While his surprise was evident, Lewis stupidly only saw an opportune moment in his narrative.

"These are a stiff-necked people indeed," he said to Arthur, as if he spoke to a co-conspirator. "You can see how I must urge them to give the King his due tax and they resist."

"You will return what you have stolen," said Arthur to the tax collector, in a tone that demanded immediate compliance.

"What? Sir Knight, I don't understand…"

Here Arthur cut him off, turning to look at the people now mesmerized by the scene unfolding before their eyes.

"This man is a liar." Arthur spoke slowly. He paced slowly in front of the crowd. "He is a liar. The tax is the same as it has been for many years. By all that is holy, I swear the tax has not been raised! "

Here Arthur turned and started to focus only on the tax- collector who stood transfixed, breathing quickly and sweating heavily as he saw his ruse exposed.

"This man, Lewis, has told you the tax was raised and then pocketed the difference for himself. He has stolen your money!"

There was an immediate outcry from the villagers, mostly in shock, but edged with anger.

"Peace," cried Arthur, holding his hand up in his familiar gesture for silence.

Lewis crossed himself, closing his eyes in abject fear. He was hyperventilating.

"I am a servant of King Arthur," he squeaked at last.

"I …AM… King Arthur," said Arthur with venom, his blue eyes riveted on the man. "And you, Lewis, are a thief!"

At this the tax collector turned pale, his eyes rolled back and he keeled over sideways, scattering the coins from the table and falling into a heap on the floor.

"The King," some cried.

"He's dead," shouted others.

It became a perfect melee of shouting and rushing about, as Arthur stood above the body of the tax collector turned thief. Merlin hurried forward and checked the man's pulse and heart carefully. The crowd quieted to hear what he had to say.

"He's only fainted," he said a last. Some guffawed loudly in the background. "He is breathing easily and he'll come around in a bit," Merlin continued. He looked up at Arthur and smiled.

"Gwaine is going to be mad he missed this," he said softly. "Dramatic, yeah?"

The tide of Arthur's anger disappeared in his answering laugh. He clapped his servant on the shoulder, and then looked around at the crowd, who stood, goggle eyed, at the King, his servant and the toppled tax collector.

"And now, my good people," began Arthur, "I thank you. I thank all of you, for your stiff necks. You had the sense to see this man was cheating you. You always have redress with me in Camelot. Especially you, Bill!"

At this, the crowd laughed, and the man whipped off his cap and ducked his head, his smile speaking volumes. Arthur continued, with evident satisfaction in his voice.

"I pass judgment on this tax collector, Lewis." The said culprit was still unconscious on the floor. "He must return to each of you, the amount he has stolen by "raising the taxes." His ledgers are confiscated and will be reviewed immediately when we arrive back in Camelot. His house and goods are forfeit to pay you. If he does not have enough to refund you, he must serve in the household of those he owes, as an indentured servant, until his debt is paid. Each in their turn."

The crowd seemed a bit mollified, but clearly stunned by everything that had happened. They whispered to each other.

"And one more thing…" continued the King. Lewis stirred and moaned, looking as if he was coming around at last.

"As King of Camelot, I decree that his name be changed from Lewis."

"To what, my Lord," asked Bill, who had started the entire exchange, that had led to this incredible scene.

"What else," responded Arthur, with a twinkle in his eye, as he smiled at the crowd.

"Ananais!"


	7. Prevaricate

Chapter 7

Prevaricate

Merriam Webster explains that the word ' **prevaricate** ' comes from the Latin root, 'praevaricari', which means 'to walk crookedly'. Praevaricari is formed in part, by the word, 'varus', meaning 'bent or knock-kneed'. **Prevaricate** means to avoid the truth by not answering a direct question.

 _This story is set in set between seasons three and four. Uther has retreated into himself after Morgana's betrayal, leaving the responsibility of Camelot on Arthur's shoulders as regent._ _I do not own Merlin and I apologize, in advance, for any deviations from the characterizations of our heroes, in this fiction._

Merlin hummed to himself as he stumbled up the stairs that led to the main hall of Camelot. He laughed as he realized he had missed the turn to Arthur's room and turned back to retrace his steps. Unfortunately, when he turned around, he over compensated and his feet tangled hopelessly and he spun downwards, still chuckling.

"I think I'm drunk," he said to no one in particular. "In fact, I know I'm drunk!"

He pulled himself to his knees and using a hand to steady himself on the wall, he struggled up again. He tugged his shirt down, in an attempt at a semblance of sobriety, and set off down the stairs again. He staggered a bit, as he went on his way. To his immense delight, he found the door handle of Arthur's room rather quickly and shoved it open.

To his surprise, the prat was not asleep, but was sitting at his desk, a battle map spread out on the table, with markers to represent various types of troops and their strength.

"Arthur, I have something to tell you," he announced.

The Prince looked up, a glare already threatening.

"I'm drunk. I am very, very drunk!"

"That much is obvious, Merlin," he replied sarcastically, after a heartbeat. "Have you completely taken leave of your senses? What are you doing here?"

"Gwaine left me all alone," said Merlin rather plaintively. He took a few steps forward, and clung to the support of the bedpost as he talked to Arthur. "We were having a good time at the tavern. Gwaine had a bottle of ale from St. Giles monastery, the kind with the three 'x's. And we were halfway through it. "

"And you matched every drink that Gwaine took?"

Merlin nodded. His knees buckled, but he caught himself for a moment before his hands slid down the bedpost and he landed in a heap. Merlin kept talking anyway.

"Yeah! Arthur, it was just like that… it's like you were there! You should come with us next time! But then this girl came; she was really pretty but I forget her name. She had some of the ale to drink too, and then… well, you can guess the rest!" Here Merlin began to snigger and then to laugh outright.

"So I was all alone in the tavern and I didn't know a soul…" continued his servant.

"That's unlikely, given how much time you spend there."

"Huh? What? Sometimes, Arthur, you make absolutely no sense." Merlin shook his head sadly. He looked up at the Prince, "Now as I was saying…", he started but he was quickly interrupted by Arthur's derisive snort.

"Could you pay attention, you cabbagehead! I'm trying to tell you something. " He started over once again. "As I said, I was in the tavern, all alone, and one thought led to another. And then I said to myself, I should tell Arthur. I should just tell him! Tell him everything! Get it all out there. No time like the present. And here I am."

Merlin managed to prop himself in a seated position leaning against the bedpost. Arthur had not moved from his desk, but he was becoming more convinced by the moment, that Merlin could probably no longer walk on his own and that he should drag him by the hair all the way back to Gaius' chambers. His hapless servant was almost incoherent.

But then he remembered the blistering scoldings he had received from the old physician after one or two of his more unfortunate drinking escapades in his youth, and he faltered. Merlin might be an idiot, a drunken idiot, but he had been a drunken idiot a time or two, himself. He could easily imagine that Gwaine had tempted Merlin to drink far more than he was used to, and then went off with a girl, thinking that Merlin was fine.

His servant, however, did not look fine. He had gone pale and sweaty, and was covering his eyes. "Arthur, the room is spinning. It's sickening. Is that normal?

"As normal as anything concerning you, could be." His servant uncovered his eyes, to look up at Arthur, his eyes glazed in confusion.

"Yes, that's normal," said the Prince. He got up from his chair and brought his servant a basin he usually used for shaving. He put it between Merlin's legs. He wet a cloth and placed it on the back of his servant's neck. The dark haired youth sighed in relief.

"That helps."

"The next thing that happens is normal too." Though his words were heartless, his voice was filled with understanding, almost pity. "You are going to be useless tomorrow. How much did you drink?"

"Not sure. A lot." He smiled impishly, though he still looked ghastly. "We should visit St. Giles and get some more."

"I doubt you will think that in the morning."

"I'm still trying to tell you something."

"I know. But you won't remember it in the morning, and I don't want to remember it either. So…"

"Shut up, Merlin?" The servant looked affronted, even as he voiced Arthur's thoughts.

"You guessed it," said the Prince.

"I feel worse, " said the servant in a panicked voice, starting to heave into the bowl between his knees.

"It gets better, " said the Prince as he sat himself next to his inebriated servant. "It gets better." Merlin vomited a few times, mostly bringing up bile and liquor. His friend offered him a glass of water and he took a few sips, his hands trembling badly. His head fell back against the bedpost with an audible thunk.

"Better," asked Arthur.

Merlin only moaned in response. After a few moments he seemed to rouse. "It's much worse from the inside," he said.

"What's that?" The Prince sounded almost amused.

"I've done this for people, you know. Seen Gwaine vomiting his guts out and dragged him home. But it's much worse from the inside." His words were slurring. "Is that normal?"

"Will you stop asking me that, Merlin?" Now the Prince was actually laughing a bit at his servant's desperate look. "Yes, it's normal," he said at last.

His friend relaxed, almost smiling. Merlin took a deep breath and seemed on the verge of speaking again, as if he was fighting to find the strength to say something, but the Prince did not notice. He had gotten up and was looking for a blanket.

Unaware that Arthur was no longer there, Merlin snapped his fingers and seemed disappointed when nothing happened. He held his palm out unsteadily and a small blue flame appeared. It wavered and fizzled out, just as the Prince came around the corner of the bed with his own bedcover in hand.

"Here, you idiot," he said with affection as Merlin gave way to dizziness and drink, and let himself fall over in a sprawl of limbs. The blanket covered him. It was heavenly to cradle his face in the coolness of the soft pillow, that was now beneath his head.

"What did you want to tell me?" Arthur's tone was almost jovial. For one terrible moment, Merlin started to form the words that had been silenced in his heart for years. The enormity of his secret and the betrayals that his loyalty had demanded of him, coiled in his heart, like something dark and evil. The drunken resolve that had fueled him moments before, ebbed away as completely as the tide leaves the shore. His heart was bare.

" I wanted to say… I wanted to say, Arthur, I'm… I'm so sorry I'm drunk."

"There's a revelation," responded the Prince who was looking at him intently. "You'll be a lot sorrier in the morning." Despite the sarcasm in his voice there was an air of expectation in the silence that followed. " You seem to spend a lot of time in the tavern for someone who doesn't get drunk."

Even though he didn't want to, his servant started to giggle. His mirth ended rather pitifully with a hiccup.

"If I didn't know you better Merlin, I would think you were lying about all the time you spend in that tavern!"

"I don't lie," he slurred. "Prevaricate maybe, but I don't lie!"

"That's a fine point on it, Merlin" laughed Arthur.

"The finest," answered his servant, as he turned over and seemed to willingly give way to the soporific influence of the ale.

"G'nite, Arthur."

"You poor bastard," said Arthur softly, thinking of how his servant would feel in the morning; simultaneously laughing at his discomfort and planning a few innocent torments of his own. He smiled as he pulled the cover higher over his drunken friend.

The Prince did not know that Merlin had not really given way to his inebriation. He did not know the overwhelming shame Merlin felt for the lies he told his closest friend. He could not know the guilt his servant felt for the lies he would tell in the future. Arthur could not understand the crushing destiny that bound them together through time and fate, though it demanded every sacrifice Merlin's heart could make. He would not see the tears, that burned like acid, as they slid down the secret warlock's face. All was silence. All was darkness.

It was in that moment, Merlin realized, that no one, not the Once and Future King, not the gods in their heaven, nor the dragons that ruled the skies and the wind, could hear his human heart break.

FIN

Author's note: This story is dedicated to all those friends, young and old, who have found a truth or two at the bottom of the bottle, or in the swirling waters of the porcelain throne, in the immediate aftermath! In vino, veritas!


	8. Equivocate

Chapter 8

Equivocate

Merriam Webster defines the word **equivocate** as using unclear language to mislead or deceive someone.

 _This story is set in season TWO._

 _I do not own Merlin and I apologize, for any errors or deviations from the canon characterizations or timelines as depicted in this fiction. I offer my sincere apologies to those who have pointed out my errors._

I awoke to the sound of his despair. I awoke to his mortal cry of desolation.

Here in my prison, there is little that brings me comfort. There is no air, no sky. Though I long for the wind, it cannot stir in the unyielding walls of stone, and the chains that bind me to this place echo with betrayal and the burden of my own fate. The visions of the future that paint themselves in my awareness are all of Emrys, and the Once and Future King.

Merlin cried out once more and my heart burned. The pain in his soul blazed up like my own dragonfire. A dark haired girl closed her eyes in death. The sweet flutter of her heart was extinguished and the terrible curse that had haunted her, fell like shards of glass, undone at last and finished. Her spirit rose free, fiercely joyous, and Merlin's pain echoed along my bones and sinews and knit itself into the beat of my heart. We are kin, after all.

I waited.

Days passed. The young warlock held his pain within, like a deadly wound that bleeds though it is tightly bound. I listened as grief ate at him like poison; I heard his agony as it tortured him day and night and stole his vitality. His heart could hear no comfort, and I waited. I could do no other.

When at last, I heard his footsteps echo along the corridor that led him to my prison, I was still shocked by his appearance. His eyes burned red in his pale face as he set the torch in it's cresset and turned to face me. The bones in his face were harsh and edged in the shadow of the firelight. Night was heavy on his soul. The memory of roses sat like a shadow on his strength.

"Kilgarrah," he whispered. "Why?"

I bowed my head. What answer could I give? What answer could soothe the pain of an absence that could not be mended?

"Why?"

"The curse of the Bastet cannot be broken except by death, " I said at last.

He nodded. His voice was infinitely young and broken.

"She was more than the curse that bound her. She was …Freya was …," he began, but he could not finish.

Tears overwhelmed him.

I glimpsed visions then, as Merlin's heart lay open and broken before me. I saw visions that flared bright for infinitesimal moments and plunged again into the vast maelstrom of actions yet untaken. I saw an ancient king with a flask of water whose eyes were deep with suffering. I saw the fate of Excalibur guarded by this girl's bright spirit over centuries and eons. I saw the long and terrible march of years that would bring Merlin to his fate and an arm lifting from the ancient waters of Avalon in a world that was strange and unfamiliar, beyond my strangest imaginings. I realized her role had been cast by fate, as surely as had that of my young warlock. The love that had flared, so brightly, so briefly, had not been part of the prophecy. Whether their love was a grace of the gods or the irony of some darker fate, I could not tell.

Wrapped as I was in the strength of my visions, he took my silence for invitation.

"Her name was Freya," he whispered.

I did but listen, as Merlin let his grief course through him. He told me the story of their meeting, of the rain and her eyes and her captor's cage. He laughed his way through a story about a stolen dress. Even in his pain, the joy of the memory carried him. His eyes flashed as he told me of her beauty, His tears fell again as he spoke of how she had been killed. By Arthur. Of how, at last, she had slipped from his arms as easily as a sigh and left his heart bleeding.

The young warlock was limp with exhaustion, curled on his knees in front of me. Deep within our kinship our fey connection grew ever stronger. Like a dark hum, it thrummed through us both. I wondered if this was the only comfort I could offer. I began to believe it might be enough. But he stirred again, his tortured, stormy eyes piercing my armor as none other could.

"Will be ever be together, Kilgarrah?" His question was a murmur, but it ripped through my hopes that he might find comfort. " I could bear to be apart if I knew we could be together in the end." He sighed. "We had a dream, you know., about a little farm out in the mountains and some…" . He faltered, "some…". He caught his breath in sudden agony, I have heard men gasp like that when the spear is withdrawn from their chest and their life gushes out in a quick death.

I saw they would not be together, though I knew their paths would cross again. Their fates ran parallel but untouchable; they were allotted only a glimpse of joy in the darkness. I doubted that Merlin could bear to know the truth, to understand the paltry sum of their reunions would be counted in minutes and daily faith. Their love had been a lightning strike; a miracle in the storm of fate that surrounded them both. Now it was gone. I let my voice sink low.

"Surely, you will see each other again."

His eyes met mine once more, but now there was the power of hope in his torment.

"Truly, Kilgarrrah?"

"What I have said, will not change on repetition, young warlock," I replied. His answering smile struck me dumb. I wondered if prophecy was no more than a way to equivocate, when the price of the truth was too high to bear. Now it was my heart that bled. Gladly, I paid the price of my lie.

"Sleep now," I hissed and I saw his head droop as he stretched out on the floor, pillowing his head on his arm as he drifted into unawareness. His sadness was lifted, by only a fraction and yet, it might be enough. "Sleep. It will be as I have said."

Merlin's dreams were sweet, for Freya's hand lay in his as they looked to the mountains. The Sidhe of Avalon surged like fiery motes in the lazy, dark purple of the twilight where Emrys and the Lady of the Lake dreamed of the impossible. While I, Kilgarrah, the last of my race, burned in the chains of my equivocation and keened in the prison of our desolation. We are kin, after all.


	9. Malinger

Chapter 9

Malinger

Merriam Webster defines the word **malinger,** as the act of pretending to be sick or injured in order to avoid work.

 _I do not own Merlin, and I apologize in advance for any errors I may make in the setting or characterizations contained in this fiction. They can be attributed to my own carelessness and my own private head canons. I deeply apologize to those who have pointed out my errors._

The day of the hunt, dawned grey and overcast. The clouds were low and dark with rain. Though the weather was not cooperating, Arthur was still glad that the hunt would go on. But his anticipation was quickly ruined, when his servant did not arrive. After dressing himself and trying to pack a bag, and working himself up a bit, about the general laziness of Merlin when there was genuine work to be done, he had marched to Gaius' chambers.

The old physician cracked open the door in response to Arthur's knocking.

"Merlin" they both said at the same time, one in tones of annoyance and one in concern.

"You can't come in," said Gaius with authority before Arthur could speak again. "Merlin came down with a fever last night, and until I can gauge if it is communicable, no one must enter." The old man's voice stated to fade a bit at the end, and Arthur wondered for a moment if something was afoot.

"Something serious, " queried the Prince.

"Likely not" replied Gaius, but his voice did not have it's familiar tone. "But it's best to be safe, Sire." The young monarch looked at his old mentor for a few heartbeats more.

"Well, I 'll find someone else to attend me on the hunt, said Arthur. He turned to leave. "And tell Merlin I don't appreciate his malingering," he added loudly, over his shoulder as Gaius gently shut the door.

The doctor, for his part, was wondering why he had told that particular lie about a fever. Somehow, when it came to Merlin, his facility with the truth flew out the window. He was reduced to, 'he's in the tavern' or 'he has a fever', when he had saved unnumbered lives by maintaining silence and not saying what he knew. But Merlin was different.

As he leaned against the door, he remembered the look in his ward's eyes as he told Gaius that the Great Dragon was calling him. Once again, there was a danger to Camelot and the Dragon had urged him to hurry. Despite the many adventures that had begun in the same way and ended well, Gaius had felt a twinge of fear in that moment. And then Merlin had been gone, and as the night wore on, Gaius had felt a deep foreboding arise. It gripped him now with such intensity, that tears came to his eyes.

"Oh Merlin," he whispered at last, through his fear, "What has happened to you, now."

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Merlin was bleeding. In the dark, he fought the last of the wyverns that had attacked the water supply of Camelot.

Seven wyverns had attacked, but each of them had been dying of poison. Kilgarrah had found one of the wyverns who had died before it reached the cistern, and warned Merlin of the danger. Following that lead, Merlin had found out the rest. The wyverns had been poisoned and then spelled to enter the water cistern of Camelot, where their own natural poison and that which they had ingested, would unite in a more deadly brew. The dying creatures had plunged into the main cistern. The taint of dark magic had been all over them. Merlin had mourned as he killed them each in turn, for they were simple beasts and did not deserve to be so abused. Merlin was panting from exertion, dragging the last of the wyverns from the water, only to realize that one last, crazed, dying creature was still behind him. On land.

It was on him quicker than a thought. The razor claws digging into his side as he screamed his command to stop. The creature held him close and then convulsed as it died. It's claws dug deeper in his side, as it reflexively tightened down and Merlin screamed with the pain and the shock of it. At last, he was able to catch his breath and he struggled against the inert weight of the dead wyvern. He staggered to his feet, pushing against the carcass to get his feet under him.

To his horror, the waters of the cistern were still filthy with poison. His magic recoiled at the stink of it. The poison moved darkly and heavily, through the turgid, sloshing waters. The warlock marshaled all his strength and began to encant a spell.

" Áfeormab," he murmured, as his eyes changed to gold. An aura of power enveloped him as he blessed the waters. " Áclaensaab **.** Ábirab haelu!"

A faint blue light emanated from his palm and arced into a graceful spray, illuminating the water for a moment before it faded completely.

Merlin was smiling as his strength gave way, and he crumpled by the side of the water, exhausted and bleeding.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Arthur galloped into the clearing intent on a stag, His horse had reared and began to whinny insanely and only through his trust in Arthur, did his horse come under control again. The other horses, which were following the hunt, all began to buck and scream. The noise and confusion was overwhelming, and some horses bolted with their riders. As the animals had plunged and reared, Arthur had only glimpses of what had brought this to pass, but it was enough to strike terror into him.

There was a dragon in the clearing. There was a huge dragon, standing calmly in the center of the meadow. The gray light of the sky was muted, but the dragon still shone with iridescent colors.

"King of Camelot," said the dragon.

Arthur drew his word and dismounted. Taking a breath, he signaled his knights to stay behind him.

"Come quickly," said the dragon to Arthur's complete surprise. "Quickly!" The dragon's voice thundered. As Arthur neared the gigantic beast, he glimpsed what had been hidden by the shadow of the dragon's belly. It was Merlin.

His clothes had been ripped to shreds and he was covered in blood and some terrible thick yellow substance. He was so still that Arthur was not even sure he was breathing. He looked up at the dragon, in complete shock. Merlin.

Merlin who was supposed to be malingering with a cup of tea, by a cozy fire, in Gaius' room. Merlin.

"Poison," said the dragon, as if that explained everything. "I was able to heal some of his injuries, but he will need Gaius."

"What happened to him," snapped Arthur at last. But he ignored the dragon then as if he thought he would receive no answer.

The prince knelt down at his friend's side. "Merlin?' Merlin can you hear me?" But he was unresponsive, Arthur could not stop himself from feeling for a pulse. Yes. His heart beat strongly but his servant's skin was burning.

"Seven wyverns were sent to poison the main water supply for Camelot," said the dragon in a purring, almost gleeful, tone. "Merlin killed each of them, but the last of the creatures, attacked him. He vanquished the wyvern, but he has paid dearly. Your water is safe, King of Camelot." The last part of the dragon's story dripped in sarcasm.

"What was he thinking," whispered the king in amazement, as he touched Merlin's hair, tapping him softly on the check, still trying to rouse him.

"He thinks only of you and Camelot." The silence underlined his words.

"He is the last dragonlord," said the creature of magic in a tone of reverence.

Arthur looked up into the dragon's eye then, and back down at Merlin. Shock held him immobile once again.

"Take him quickly," said the dragon in a tone that brooked no further delay. Gathering his friend into his arms, Arthur was awash in uncertainty and grief as he lifted him from the ground and began to carry him towards his entourage. Merlin was so pale that he seemed hardly a part of this world.

As the servants and knights circled the king and Merlin, all trying to help, someone had lifted his friend away from him and placed him on a pallet of sorts, fashioned from some blankets and capes. His friend groaned at the movement and at first, Arthur was encouraged. But the amount of blood everywhere was alarming. There were deep gashes along his torso that seemed to be partially healed, Any one of the deeper gashes might have been a mortal wound except for the healing of the dragon. There were other smaller wounds that were still bleeding heavily. Merlin appeared to come back to himself, as the downbeat of the dragon's wings blew a hot wind over them. But with awareness, came pain, and Merlin could not stop his involuntary gasps of torment caused by every movement, as they tried to stanch the bleeding. Arthur was further shocked when he saw his friend trying to fight his eyes open. He was trying to talk as well, opening his mouth as if he wanted to say something to Arthur, but lacked the strength. Arthur could not bear it. His friend was suffering terribly and he could do almost nothing to help him. Whatever the dragon had meant, about the last dragonlord, it was Merlin who was lying there broken, covered in his own blood and who knows what else. Poisoned. For trying to save Camelot.

He reached down and laid his hand lightly on Merlin's laboring chest, trying to calm him.

"You know," he said, in a conversational tone, as if nothing was wrong. "You really should listen to me once in a while." He spoke as if finding a dragon in a meadow in the middle of a hunt, bringing him his injured best friend was an ordinary occurrence, in his world, "I told you nothing good would come of your malingering."

Merlin tried to smile. He did not need to understand the words or what was going on. He understood enough.

"Yeah," he said, in a tone of sincere relief, as he looked up at his friend. He held Arthur's hand tightly.

"Yeah."


	10. Taradiddle

Chapter 10

Taradiddle

 _Merriam Webster tells us that the origin of the word, 'taradiddle' is UNKNOWN! Some link it's root to the word 'diddle' which means to cheat. Some other scholars connect it to the Old English word 'didrian', which means to deceive. No one knows when it was first used. In colloquial speech, 'taradiddle' is defined as a synonym for 'fib'. (History and fate are mysterious! You never know, it might be one of Merlin's words!)_

 _I do not own Merlin and I apologize, for any errors or deviations from the canon characterizations or timelines as depicted in this fiction. I offer my sincere apologies for any errors, I may have overlooked._

Merlin was tired. His mind and his magic woke him long before the dawn. Sleep had eluded him for long enough that he knew it was useless to pretend.

There was an emptiness that descended on him some nights. These were nights when the thoughts of his destiny and the puzzle of Arthur, the Once and Future King, would trouble him. He would slake his doubts in those shining memories of hope, of Arthur pulling Excalibur from the stone, of the people of Camelot cheering at his coronation. He would dream of a Camelot , free and fair, of a land where magic and human ingenuity could build a world together. And sleep would return.

But there were other nights, with even darker thoughts.

Shaking his head, Merlin mounted the steps that led to a parapet, high above the castle courtyard. From that vantage, he could see in the distance, fields and orchards. Using his magic he could see farther and feel the land, almost breathing beneath his hand, as he sat drinking in the clean air.

It was a cloudy night. The very heavens were dark with rain, low and heavy above him. The moist air comforted his breath. He stood feeling the wind, the singing slough of the air. Rubbing his hands together, Merlin smiled in anticipation. He loved nights such as this!

He blew out a breath, gesturing with his hand, as if pushing something incredibly delicate forward. His eyes changed to gold, bright as stars in the darkness. His lips framed a single word. He looked skyward, pleased to see the clouds moving towards the fields. He waited, slowly pushing the cloud, his magic flowing from him, as gently as a spring breeze. He spoke again, and although he was far away, he felt the gentle rain as it began to soak into the soil. He loved the soft feeling of the water as it drank itself into the earth. Merlin stood transfixed for a single moment, enjoying the sensation of his magic and the rain. The roots of the plants quested ever deeper; the leaves lifted and the trees sang their endless soft songs of earth and water. The wind stirred his hair and he came back to himself.

He found a profound delight in helping the crops and vinyards of Camelot. He knew which of the farmers prospered, and who struggled, thanks to riding patrols with the knights, and he sought to help those who needed it. But the thoughts that had woken him hung like fetters on his attempts to find peace. He sat down, looking out over the kingdom that he had come to love. There was a gap in the clouds now, and the stars were shining.

Merlin's heart was heavy. There were so many lies beneath the bright face of Camelot. The whole kingdom was thick with lies. The lies were part of the very foundation of Uther's reign. From the very beginning, the lies had begun. Arthur knew very little of his family background. He had not known that Ygraine's sister, Vivienne, had been a priestess on the Isle of the Blessed before her father had given her in marriage. She had been a skilled witch, and the legacy of her talent was present in Morgause, and in Morgana. Agravaine was rumored to have magic as well. While Ygraine had not possessed the talent of magic herself, it had been as familiar to her as breathing. That same legacy ran in Arthur's veins.

The King still did not know the price of his birth. The shade of Ygraine had spoken truth of a sort to Arthur long ago. But he still did not understand the willing sacrifice his mother had made, nor had he begun to comprehend the love that drove her to such straits. Outraged and bereft after her death, Uther had turned on the forces that had been his mainstay, seeking to eradicate magic from Camelot. His hypocrisy had led to more lies.

Gaius was so deep in lies that Merlin wondered how the old physician bore the pain of it. His lies were of omission, of refusing to speak, of turning a blind eye, and giving an unseen helping hand. If his assistance had been revealed, his life would have been forfeit to Uther. Gaius knew the price of lies.

Kilgarrah told the truth, he supposed. As far as a dragon could ever tell the truth, given their obsession with fate. The dragon's lies were direct, but were sometimes more subtle, concealing motivations. The Great Dragon had borne long imprisonment beneath the keep of Camelot because of a lie, a false offer of peace. The corrosive hatred of that action had eaten at the dragon through long nights of his captivity, and fed his thoughts of revenge and fire.

It was lies that had broken Morgana's bright spirit as she struggled with the awakening of her magic. Uther's lies about her birth, and his unreasoning hatred of her magic, had tortured the valiant Morgana into a twisted wraith of violence and retribution. Her cruelty was Uther's shadow magnified. Her hatred was a consequence of Merlin's failure, as he struggled with the lies about his own magic that had stayed both his hand and his words, when his heart had been begging him to do something else. If he had he spoken about his magic, maybe.. maybe…

He closed his eyes in grief, overcome for a moment. He saw Morgana's frightened, accusing eyes as she realized that Merlin had poisoned her. That look lived eternally in his innermost heart, despite all the subsequent evils she had practiced. It struck deep at his own lies. It was like wound forever unhealed. Regrets were not lies, but still, they hung heavy as he wrestled with the weight of his every prevarication, with the shadows of his endless equivocations.

He wondered how he could ever bear the look in Arthur's eyes when he found out about his magic. How could Arthur forgive the lies he had told, the actions he had hidden, both bright and dark. It was easy to hide the good things he had done; it seared his soul to think of the lies he had told. It was hard to bear that he had betrayed his own magic.

Yet he feared the judgment in his friend's eyes more than death itself. What would he do if Arthur turned away from him. He would rather die a thousand deaths, in the cause of Camelot, than see enmity in Arthur's eyes. He lifted his head to gaze at the stars. They were eternal in their witness.

Surely the stars could see the motive and the fate that drove his decisions. In their clear light, he could see the dream of a free world, that fueled his lies. He believed the stars would judge him more kindly than Arthur, and certainly, more kindly than he, himself. Morning was coming.

Merlin unashamedly wiped at the tears that stained his face. As the daylight came, the stars would fade. In the glare of day, their small comfort would be obscured. And yet their light would be unceasing, still there, unnoticed, but still as hopeful. Merlin stood up, took a deep breath, and began his day.

-m-m-m-m-m- -m-m-m-m-m- -m-m-m-m-m-

Merlin was late with his breakfast and the King had decided to dress himself. His clothes had been laid out behind the dressing screen. His belt lay on top of his new linen shirt, with an awl, laying across the leather strap.

Arthur pushed the sharp instrument aside, and picked up the belt, looking at the holes. There were two new holes. The undyed edges of the leather showed up, raw, against the supple surface.

Merlin stumbled into the room at just that moment, pitcher and tray in hand.

"Here's breakfast, he said cheerily, as he busied himself setting up the food.

Arthur came out from behind the screen, carrying the belt in his hand.

Merlin looked up. Arthur was glowering.

"I never said you were fat," said his servant immediately, but he smiled as he said it. Arthur still looked baleful.

"Well, you certainly didn't tell me the truth," retorted the King. "You think I'm gaining weight and you don't want to tell me."

"Of course not!" Merlin laughed out loud. "Useless as it is, I rather like my head Arthur. I'd like to keep it!"

"You still lied!"

"Oh, that's only a taradiddle," said the servant. He uncovered Arthur's plate with a flourish and gestured at the juicy sausages, still sizzling on the plate, beside the golden toasted bread. "Look, Arthur. Your favorite, this morning!"

The king sat down immediately, a smile on his face.

"Taradiddle?" He wolfed down a bite of sausage before he looked up at his servant, still chewing. "Another one of your made up words, Merlin?"

"Oh, I heard it somewhere," he replied, with a small sideways glance at his friend.

"Well, I dub you King of the Taradiddles," laughed Arthur, as he handed his plate to his friend, and he gestured at the belt that now lay on the table, not far from where he ate. "But only if you bring me more sausages!"

Merlin chuckled along with Arthur, but his thoughts were not of joy. His heart was still dark with the weight of the lies. His morning on the castle walls came flooding back to him; herding the clouds, grappling with the darkness, finding some hope. He shuddered, almost invisibly, but his friend did not note it. Merlin found that even the memory of the stars, could not help him bear the price he knew he would someday pay for his lies.

Someday, at Camlann.

FIN

 _Thank you very much to each and every reader who took the time to read my stories. I hope you have enjoyed them! I apologize for the late issue of this last chapter, but a part of me, simply did not want the series to end. If you ever take the "Pants on Fire" challenge on the Merriam Webster site, I expect all of you to ace all ten words! Merlin fans are the kindest and best in the world! Thank you again, from the bottom of my heart!_


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